


To Give Is To Take

by snarechan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Ballroom Dancing, Breakfast, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, DO NOT COPY TO ANOTHER SITE OR APP, Dancing, Do not repost, Gun Violence, M/M, Military Uniforms, Minor Violence, Missing Scene, Mystery, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Protective, Protectiveness, Romance, Team Dynamics, Uniforms, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: While on an undercover mission, Blackwatch members discover an even greater threat closer to home. It's too late to stop the proceedings, only to lessen the collateral damage...at any cost.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 8
Kudos: 49





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Back on my R76 bullshit, folks. \o/ Although funnily enough, this is the _first_ story I ever started writing for the pairing, even if it's not the first one that I've posted. I have worked on and off with this 4-part series since about 2017. It's had to go through so many rewrites and updates over the years due to lore reveals and updates, but I'm happy with it enough to gradually release it to my beta reader and begin archiving it here (even if it will still probably show it's age in some parts). There won't be any sort of update schedule with this one due to my hectic real-life circumstances as an essential employee, but the entirety of the story _is_ completed. The next installments just need proofing and tweaking, so rest assured that someday this story will be completely posted for everyone to enjoy. 
> 
> Speaking of my beta reader: my greatest, most heartfelt thanks to Philophrosynae for their continued assistance in reading over my works. Especially during these scary times and through their own struggles. My stories, this one especially, just wouldn't be the same without their expert input. Any remaining errors or mistakes are my own.

The cobblestone street was empty at this late hour. Or _early_ , depending on how someone decided to look at it. With the clock reading half past four in the morning and the torrential downpour, it was no wonder anyone in their right mind was indoors.

Jesse meandered his way past the sleepy houses, the many windows dark and empty, with his hat down low. Despite his standing orders, he wasn't in any type of hurry. The reason for a visit to this remote town was over – the mission a success, if Jesse were being technical.

Nothing on the horizon but the start of another assignment, anyway.

The ramshackle homes gradually evolved into stacked residential buildings as he made it closer to the middle of town. Small shops and a few bars or restaurants clustered the main area below the apartments. With everything closed there was no one to see him duck inside one of the many twisting alleyways. Eventually, Jesse found himself at a dead end.

One of the walls in front of him had a door. It was the kind where it was only accessible from the other side, with the surface flat and smooth on Jesse's end. To the left of the doorframe, at about shoulder height, he tapped two knuckles on one of the russet bricks. It popped out, revealing a cavity behind it where a scanner was hidden. An automated voice instructed him to prepare for identification.

He flicked the brim of his hat up enough to reveal his eyes. A drop of water landed directly in his right, eliciting a curse from Jesse. Thankfully the security tech was able to read his irises in time to permit him access before the weather decided to make a bigger nuisance of itself.

Jesse stepped back to allow the door to swing open and allow him entrance. Once he was inside it slammed closed again, activating no less than five separate locking mechanisms. He removed his hat, giving it a couple flaps in the air to dispel some water. His black sarape had done an admirable enough job that he didn't notice the wet or the cold.

Seeing as the safe house was damn near empty he didn't much care if he dripped over everything. The many things that had filled the rooms were in the process of being packed up and relocated – if, that is, they weren't already gone. Jesse passed one or two agents finishing up their tasks, readying for the cleanup crew to come in and wipe the place.

The hallway was a straight shot through the unit and ended with a single, open room to the right. Situated on top of the only desk was a portable Blackwatch terminal. A weathered, foldable stool was present, not that his boss, Gabriel Reyes, had opted to use it. He stood hunched over the orange-lit keyboard, seeming to debate with himself.

Not wanting to disturb his line of thinking (or risk his ire), Jesse took up residence in the doorway. He leaned against the frame with his shoulder, tucking one booted foot behind the other. His footsteps had been nonexistent, regardless of the floor's pension for creaking in its old age and the watery mess left in his wake. All the same, Jesse was sure his boss knew of his presence, but he could wait until Reyes was ready and properly acknowledged him.

Seeming to come to a decision, Reyes activated the communications computer with three keystrokes. The screen in front of him remained vacant. The sole indication that he'd done anything were the audio cues as Athena's voice originated from the onboard speakers.

" _Good morning, Commander Reyes_ ," the AI greeted him.

"This is Morrison's private line. Where is he?" Reyes asked.

" _The Strike-Commander has just retired for the evening. How may I assist you in his stead?_ "

"I'm sure he has." His boss sounded resigned, rather than surprised to hear that the other commanding officer had an equally long night. If Jesse didn't know better, he'd say Reyes was even regretful when he insisted, "I need you to patch me through, anyway."

Athena was just as persistent, though. " _He has finally entered REM. Can a coded message be left until such a time as he's awake?_ "

"This is a Level Six; he'll want to hear it from me right now."

" _Understood, Commander. Please stand by._ "

The line went idle while Athena roused the Strike-Commander. A bit of code flashed across the screen confirming that the transmission had gone through, before a very bare-chested Jack Morrison showed up. An arm was thrown over his eyes, with no hair gel or a speck o' powder on his face. A thin sheet was all that was hiding the tabloid question of whether or not the Strike-Commander wore boxers, briefs, or went commando.

Jesse politely dipped his head and ducked out of the room, opting to wait in the hallway for the remainder of the exchange.

He could still hear Morrison and Reyes from the hall. Other higher-ups likely would have made accusations, berated the Blackwatch leader, or stalled while they woke up from their sleep. Instead the Commander simply asked in a business-like manner, " _What's the situation?_ "

"I have some new intel from this assignment that concerns Overwatch directly," Reyes said, just as to the point.

There was a bit more awareness in Morrison's tone as he said, " _Go on._ " No doubt he was anticipating every worst case scenario imaginable.

"It's Eyes and Ears Only; time sensitive."

A pause, and then the sounds of the bed coverings rustling. Some jittering entered the feed as Morrison picked up his eyepiece from where it'd been situated on a bedside table to hold it closer during their conversation. His voice was louder and clearer as he asked, " _And?_ "

"I'm forgoing the original plan of returning on a civilian transport and using the ORCA-05 to meet you directly on base," Reyes said.

" _I take it you already called it in?_ "

"I'll speak to you in forty," he confirmed.

There were a handful of private, military-grade jets under the Blackwatch name. Most of them were understandably stealth or reconnaissance-based, meant for small drop teams. The fifth one in their arsenal was strictly for speed – able to traverse through the highest altitudes of the atmosphere and maintain its top numbers for hours.

It could turn a six or nine hour flight into a short jaunt. The ORCA-05 was used for speed and efficiency only as it lacked defenses. Any sort of weapons systems or cargo holds had been eliminated to ensure that it could go as fast as possible. Not to mention it wasn't cheap to run on a U.N. sanctioned budget.

" _You really called just to tell me this?_ " Morrison asked, although he was clearly bemused and not insulted. " _An encrypted text would have sufficed._ "

"And miss my chance to see your bedraggled hair? I needed one good laugh tonight," Reyes said wryly.

The Strike-Commander snorted. " _Alright, meet me in the morning conference room when you land. Fly safe._ "

"Copy that, Reyes out." A blip, and then the feed went dead. Without turning towards the door, his boss said, "You can come out of hiding, McCree."

"Wasn't hidin'; just bein' polite is all. It's not proper to interrupt a man when he's in the middle of somethin'," he responded lickity-split, unwilling to move from his lax position against the wall outside the room. Jesse took a long drag from his cigarillo and let it out slowly. "You called?"

"Yes. Get ready to move out, wheels up in ten," Reyes said, his earlier disposition with the Strike-Commander gone as he resumed his on-the-job tone of voice.

"Figured as much."

They didn't exchange words for a moment. Jesse took the time to push himself off the wall and mosey into the makeshift telecommunications room. He brought the cigarillo to his lips and opted to leave it there, letting it rest out the left side of his mouth. Both thumbs slid into his belt loops as he eyed the far wall.

"So," Jesse started, not waiting for permission to ask, "Is there a reason ya didn't think to tell the Strike-Commander _why_ there needs to be a little get together?"

"The information is too sensitive," Reyes said. Realizing how suspect that still sounded, considering his company, he added, "The situation has escalated this far without our noticing. I don’t want to talk about this here."

"Then you're plannin' on tellin' him in person?" When Reyes didn't confirm nor deny his motivations, Jesse pressed, "He has a right ta know, don't he?"

"Let it go, McCree."

" _Well?_ "

His commander didn't reply. Reyes stayed bowed over the desk, hands braced on the edge, and only raised his chin. He stared hard over the screen in front of him.  
  
The video call equipment was facing away from the decorated wall so that Morrison had been unable to see it. An array of pictures, documentation, and colorful lines made up a patchwork of evidence across the vertical surface. At the grid's center was a single photograph.

The photo was of their enemy's target. It was a copy of a copy, then digitized, so its appearance was rather grainy. Three bullet-sized holes were clustered around the middle, hiding the target's face. The distinctive blue coat, covered in the many Overwatch emblems and ranks, was more than enough to give away the person's identity:

The Strike-Commander, Jack Morrison, himself.


	2. Chapter 2

The atmosphere was tense inside the elevator. After Gabriel's exchange with McCree at the safe house the air between them had become supercharged. The strange mood traveled with them from the safe house to the present.  
  
McCree hadn't said a word to him on the ride up to Jack's private suite at Overwatch HQ. Part of the silence could be attributed to the emergency red-eye flight. Both of them were running on eighteen hours with little to no rest, making McCree more ornery than usual.   
  
Gabriel and his taskforce had expected the mission to be straightforward and quick. Blackwatch had already intercepted parts of this particular terrorist cell; the organization had been chipping away at them for weeks. The group was notorious for their willingness to handle and transport highly volatile materials to meet their own needs, a niche pattern that made them stand out.   
  
Their collected intelligence initially suggested it was the terrorist cell acting in their normal capacity. Upon further investigation, however, it turned out they weren't looking at a single entity. The terrorist cell that Blackwatch had been watching had been hired by an assassin group. Frustratingly, Blackwatch did not know who this assassin group was. The two groups were exchanging favors, that much was apparent, but to what extent was a mystery.  
  
After several hours of tracking down and then questioning, Blackwatch had raided another hideout at the end of their previous assignment. Gabriel's team missed the assassins by what appeared to be minutes. The evidence that was left behind didn’t hint that they’d been spooked. The assassins had apparently been strategizing for months and were just going ahead with their plans as scheduled.   
  
Some members of his squad viewed it as a setback, but Gabriel had seen the abundance of clues left behind as evidence they were dealing with sloppy amateurs. Whoever these people were, they were either arrogant or just plain lazy in cleaning up after themselves. Either option could be to Blackwatch’s benefit in hunting the assassins down and capturing them.   
  
Still, Gabriel had made the mistake of underestimating the situation and with Jack's life on the line he refused to do so again. Since he'd yet to come across signs of this organization in any other assignment, he put some feelers out. Nothing concrete had come back from Lacroix’s office, but in the meantime he had a bitter and sore McCree to deal with.   
  
The kid had a peculiar code of conduct in him that just wouldn't quit. Gabriel wasn't so stubborn as to dismiss it as an unadmirable quality. McCree standing fast to his ideals, no matter how scattered they may be, was what had initially caught his attention and convinced Gabriel that he was meant for bigger, better things.   
  
Although in this instance, with McCree acting petty toward him, it was grating beyond measure. So he handled it like he did in every case of McCree sulking – Gabriel ignored him. He finished sipping his instant espresso on his way off the elevator, instead.   
  
Prior to their arrival Jack had instructed him to meet in the 'morning conference room,' which was just code for the kitchenette. When they reached the front entrance to Jack's apartment he pushed on the door without bothering to knock. It didn't budge.   
  
Frowning, Gabriel tried the door again. It refused to shift. Breathing deeply through his nose, Gabriel said, " _Athena…_ "  
  
"Authentication required," came her programmed response.  
  
"This is Blackwatch Commander Reyes. Open the door."  
  
In the same tone, the computer said, "Physical authentication required."  
  
Snickering came from behind him, earning McCree a sharp look over Gabriel's shoulder. The whelp had his hands shoved deep in his pants pockets and he kept them there as he shrugged innocently. "Ya heard the nice AI. It's only protocol."  
  
Gabriel muttered under his breath as he reached inside the recesses of his hoodie to retrieve the same keycard he'd used to access this level of the building. He swiped it across the scanner and waited for the digital reader to turn from red to green, granting them access.   
  
Inside, the smell of grease and freshly brewed coffee wafted into the foyer. McCree's nose audibly sniffed the air and the rest of his body trailed after the aroma of breakfast. Gabriel caught him by the scruff of his collar and reprimanded him. "No shoes on the carpet, McCree."  
  
"Sir, yes sir," McCree said with an insincere air. He tugged off his boots and chucked them in the general direction of where Gabriel had neatly set his aside.   
  
Past the small hallway was the kitchenette where all the sweet smells of butter were originating from. There were some chairs and a small bistro table. It also had all the common amenities, including its own full-sized refrigerator. The space was light and airy, concealing the fact that it was just as soundproof and secured as Jack's offices on the far side of the watchpoint.   
  
Jack himself was manning the cooktop, alternating between flipping bacon on a rectangular skillet that spanned two burners, and pushing eggs in a pan. After calling him prior, Jack had apparently seen fit to only adorn a robe and some socks. His tactical eyepiece was in place, although the viewfinder was folded back so as not to obscure his face. Jack's hair stuck up at odd angles and his five o'clock shadow was on full display.   
  
McCree came up short in the entryway, taken aback by the head of Overwatch's less than professional dress. Grabriel, on the other hand, walked around him with ease. He disposed of his empty to-go cup and went straight for the carafe of steaming hot coffee. Gabriel had been witness to the likes of this before and wasn't fazed.   
  
"You're lookin' mighty un-Strike-Commander-like," McCree blurted, tacking on a 'sir' at the last minute.   
  
"So court-martial me," Jack said. His concentration stayed on the food frying in front of him. "Pot’s on and the toast is ready if anyone feels amicable enough to mind themselves in my kitchen."  
  
Laid out on a plate were stacks and stacks of toasted wheat and white bread. McCree recovered and headed right for the table, remembering to remove his hat at least. He pulled up a chair at the same time he reached for a couple pieces of toast. He ate one of the slices plain while he slathered jam on the rest.  
  
As McCree stuffed his face with carbs, Gabriel manhandled two mugs – holding both by the handle in the grip of his right hand and pouring coffee into each. He carried the cups and the whole container of coffee over to the table, setting one mug at an empty seat and keeping the other for himself. Placed at the center on a warming plate was the carafe.   
  
With his cheek stuffed full, McCree made to grab for the coffee pot to fill up his own mug. He desecrated his drink with too much sweetener. Gabriel nabbed the bell creamer out of his hands before McCree turned his into a latté, pointedly setting it out of his reach. The kid just watched him over the rim of his cup as he sipped his watered down coffee.   
  
When the bacon and eggs were done Jack spooned the food onto two different plates. McCree was reaching for a strip or three of meat before it even touched the tabletop. Joining them at the table, Jack pulled the mug Gabriel had prepared for him closer and let it warm his fingers.   
  
"Alright, what was so important that you had to wake me up before the crack of dawn and spend five percent of your department's budget to tell me?" Jack asked, although he wasn't accusatory. Gabriel could tell he was downplaying his concern.  
  
"Well, the good news is we infiltrated the terrorist's most recent hidey-hole. Found some other varmints in the process," McCree spoke up. Crumbs went flying everywhere as he didn't chew his meal first. Gabriel glared down at the mess, but Jack didn't comment. He was too tired, maybe, as he ordinarily would harp on Gabriel for his behavior.  
  
McCree swallowed his food, but opted to dig into half the plate of eggs to keep from making a further mess. Plus, the little shit could leave off telling the easy part. Calmly, Gabriel added, "Turned out there was another faction involved. They needed some of the terrorist's resources and expertise to infiltrate the Overwatch event that the United Nations is spearheading. We more than suspect that it's been effectively compromised."   
  
"The Anniversary Gala?" Jack said, rubbing the furrows forming on his forehead. Gabriel felt the other man's impending headache from his spot at the table. "That’s _tomorrow_. Two-thirds of the guests are already here. Postponing or cancelling the summit meeting and after party will be next to impossible."  
  
"Then don't," Gabriel said, earning twin looks of surprise and suspicion from the two other people present.   
  
Jack asked, "I take it you have a course of action?"  
  
Across from Gabriel, McCree mouthed: _Do we?  
  
_ "A joint venture involving a small strike team. You and yours are already outfitted in delegating the event, so one read-in agent from Overwatch—" Namely Genji Shimada, for surveillance purposes. "—and another from Blackwatch should suffice, since we've gathered the intel on the threat." Specifically McCree, on infiltration and bitch duty.  
  
"Handpicked by yourself, I presume." Jack didn't even pose his statement as a question.   
  
Gabriel confirmed, "I may have a couple names in mind."  
  
"And what part will you be playing in all this?" Jack asked dryly, as if he hadn't figured out on his own who would be on point.   
  
"You did mention having difficulty finding a plus-one," Gabriel reminded him. Most of Jack's agents were delegated elsewhere or relieved to rejoin their loved ones during the celebration, leaving him to face the crowds of kiss-asses alone. In answer to Jack's two-week-old complaint Gabriel held up his hands in a 'well here I am' gesture.   
  
Jack huffed, but he flicked his viewfinder down to begin transferring Gabriel's invitation through his visor. "The general debate will commence early in the morning and key speakers will present after brunch, with a brief reprieve to get ready for the anniversary celebration. The latter will take place at the resort listed on the ticket. But I'm sure you're quite aware."  
  
Gabriel refrained from explaining how in-depth he'd researched the venue, from floor plans to the staff, or how he'd memorized Jack's time tables throughout the day. He had been incredibly proactive during the short flight over here, what with McCree snoring up a storm during his power nap.   
  
"Need I remind you it's a white tie event?" Jack asked.   
  
"I'll be sure to swing by since Ana isn't here to dress you," Gabriel said. The other man snorted, amused, while McCree watched in bewilderment.   
  
"Will there be enough of an opportunity to implement everything?"  
  
Gabriel took a sip of his coffee, nursing it as he contemplated how much to tell Jack. He'd assigned personnel to the task, prior to even updating Jack, but what he eventually said was, "I'll get some top men and women on it. I trust that’ll be satisfactory."  
  
When McCree didn't take the hint, Gabriel kicked him in the shin under the table. The cowboy jumped and almost choked on his makeshift bacon and egg sandwich. "Oh, uh, yeah. You can count on me! I'll get…right…on it." He shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and grabbed a couple more strips of bacon for the road. Placing his hat back on his head, he tipped its rim toward them in farewell.   
  
Once the front door slid open and closed, signaling McCree's absence, Jack kept staring at him. Gabriel could feel the intensity of his gaze while he drank the last of his coffee. Eventually Jack put a hand on top of Gabriel's wrist – not curling his fingers, but simply resting them there. To ensure he'd gathered Gabriel's attention, Jack rubbed his skin with a thumb; the callus there tickled the hairs on his arm. Gabriel raised a quizzical eyebrow at him, to which Jack seemed about to say something, but thought better of it.   
  
He finally asked, "Are you staying the night or crashing in your quarters?"  
  
"Neither," Gabriel was quick to refute. "I've got some reports to finish and mission particulars to finalize."  
  
"So do them later. We both need sleep," Jack argued.   
  
"Soon." Jack looked prepared to turn his request into an order when Gabriel let go of his mug so he could turn over his arm, taking Jack's hand in his. "I promise. But for the moment, let me do this. I'll rest easier knowing it's all completed."  
  
"Be sure to eat, then. Keep up your strength," Jack said. He didn't look pleased at the compromise, but when did he ever? "If you need me, I'm taking my own advice and going back to bed."  
  
In lieu of an answer, Gabriel picked up a piece of toast and waved it like a white flag before taking a large bite out of it. Jack accepted the meager acquiesce. He cleaned up McCree's mess by swiping the crumbs into his untouched cup of coffee and deposited it all in the sink with some of the other dirty dishes. Jack wished him goodnight, and as soon as the bedroom door shut Gabriel got to work. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's fingers fumbled through the process of tying the strip of cotton piqué into a bow. His initial attempt had promptly come undone and with the second attempt the bow appeared lopsided no matter how much he fiddled with the ends. Now on his third try, Jack undid the necktie completely and squinted at the instructional video in his eyepiece as he restarted the video _again_.

He watched the instructor out of his right eye while trying to focus on his image in the bathroom mirror. Despite the video only being forty seconds long, Jack still struggled to replicate each step and failed to make a proper semi-butterfly. A chime sounded and signaled someone at the door. Startled out of his concentration, Jack lost hold of the material and both ends dangled around his neck.

“Commander Reyes is requesting entrance,” Athena reported.

At the announcement Jack couldn’t help the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth. Chuckling, he carefully unwound the necktie to start over on trial number four. “Access granted. You know that.”

Jack was in the middle of his task when he noticed movement in his reflection, over his shoulder. Gabe stood in the doorway to the bathroom, uncaring of Jack’s state of undress. It hardly mattered to him, either. The other man had seen Jack in much worse condition and in less than his briefs, dress socks, and starched Marcella shirt and waistcoat.

As for Gabe, between their impromptu meeting and making arrangements for the gala he’d clearly snuck away to update his own appearance. Gabe had showered and trimmed his beard into his signature goatee. His hair was sheared shorter than it was before. He’d decided to bring back the undercut from his days in the Soldier Enhancement Program.

Whereas Jack had to be seen as ‘neutral’ at the international gala, thus the white tie suit, Gabe could resort to his full dress uniform. His current work wasn’t public knowledge, so it made sense that he would fall back on his career as the first head of Overwatch.

The blue suit still fit like the day it was tailored for him.

Gabe may not have approved of the brass, but he _always_ respected the different uniforms and the people who adorned them. The immaculate state of his dress reflected that mentality. There wasn’t a stitch or thread out of place, nor a wrinkle in sight. He looked as charming as the last time Jack had seen him in the outfit.

When he caught Gabriel smirking at him for all the mindless staring, Jack cleared his throat instead and resumed his earlier task – with little success.

“Having some trouble there?” he asked.

“I can get it just fine,” Jack said, but stepped away from the sink to allow the other man room to fix his necktie as Gabriel muscled in close.

“I’m sure you can, but we don’t have fifty years.” Gabriel ran the fingers of his hands along the fabric, lining up the two ends along Jack’s chest. From there he was a flurry of motion, expertly knotting and passing the ends in and out of one another.

“Maybe you’ve heard, but I manage to run a rather extensive organization,” he said, having to make a serious effort to keep his chin level to allow Gabriel room to work. “I think that entitles me to some credit.”

“So long as it’s not fashion related, sure,” Gabriel said. He adjusted each end of the bow, the knuckles of a thumb brushing Jack’s throat in the process. After enough straightening and adjusting, Gabe stepped aside to allow Jack to inspect his handiwork. It was immaculate, of course.

“Hm. It’s alright,” Jack said.

Gabe clicked his tongue, but he was smiling. “Then can I trust you to finish sprucing yourself up? I’ll make sure the car is coming around.”

Jack murmured an affirmative as he started in on his cufflinks. He couldn’t resist snapping a glance in the mirror to watch Gabe walk out of the bathroom. The other man cut a sharp figure coming _and_ going in that fitted uniform.

The rest was easier. He put on his slacks, suit jacket, and some cologne. Gabe was on the phone when he exited the bedroom to slip on his dress shoes. Jack listened with half an ear as Gabe gave some last minute instructions and hung up. From his position by the door, Gabe asked, “Ready to rock?”

“And roll,” Jack confirmed, joining him by the exit. He accepted his overcoat as Gabe handed it to him on the way out, his hand moving to reside at the small of Jack’s back as they exited. Upon contact Gabriel stopped short.

“You’re not wearing body armor?” he asked in a stony voice.

“Wasn’t part of the ten-piece wardrobe,” Jack said and kept walking down the narrow hallway.

“What about a defense handgun?” Gabriel continued to drill him. “Or a short knife? _Anything?_ ”

“And ruin the lines of my suit? I could never. Besides,” Jack said as he slid a knowing look over his shoulder, “I’m sure you’re armed enough for the both of us.”

There was more than enough truth to that. Not so long ago Gabriel had smuggled enough weapons and contraband into the SEP to be the definition of a one-man-army and expert requisition officer. Jack had been surprised by the machete, but he was _particularly_ impressed by the five large pizzas with extra cheese and all the toppings that he managed to secret into their shared barrack for Jack’s birthday.

“ _Jackie._ ” The growled utterance of his name didn’t even faze him as he boarded the elevator. Jack went so far as to hold the door for Gabriel, his brow raised in challenge.

“This is supposed to be the anniversary summit for peace—" Gabriel scoffed, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head. "—and I’m a super soldier with advanced healing and years of hand-to-hand experience,” Jack finished, undaunted. “So unless there’s a specific reason I should be worried…?”

“Only if you weren’t listening to the part where I told you there’s an assassin that may be in attendance.” Gabriel finally boarded the elevator, making a point to stand with one foot in front of Jack and thus positioned in front of him. When the doors would open on the first floor he’d be blocking the way.

Jack ignored how Gabriel reached across to jam his thumb on the button to send them down to the lobby. He instead clasped his hands together underneath his overcoat. He waited, staring ahead at their warped reflections in the steel finish of the elevator doors, before he opted to softly say, “Everything will be fine. I trust you’ll see to it.”

“Sweet talker,” Gabe griped, but the tension left his shoulders. His tone was distracted, however. Jack identified the signs that Gabe was already planning the millions of worst case scenarios and how to best neutralize them. He’d be mentally indisposed for the rest of the trip to the gala, most likely.

A limo was waiting for them outside the glass entrance doors, across from where they departed the elevator. As they exited the building together, a man in a chauffeur uniform and hat stepped out of the vehicle. Jack almost missed a step as he realized it was _Jesse McCree_ in the outfit. His long hair stuck out from under his cap and the giant belt buckle looked ridiculous against the clean lines of his suit. McCree probably knew it by the way he smirked when he opened the passenger door for them.

Jack just minutely shook his head, deigning not to comment further than a brief thanks as he ducked inside the vehicle. Gabe hung back, exchanging some words with their ‘driver’. In the meantime Jack took the time to pour himself a stiff drink and peek at his visor (which he’d never removed) to check emails, the news, and so forth. Just because Overwatch was in the middle of a celebration didn’t mean everyday operations had ceased.

When Gabe joined him he took the rear seat, across from Jack, and blocked the reinforced glass window. The limo started, pulling away from the curb and on the way to the gala. Traffic was a _mess_ ; the entire city had come alive due to their international company. Jack didn’t envy McCree having to maneuver through the mounting congestion the closer they got to the event venue. 

He was quiet during the drive. Since Gabriel wasn’t forthcoming with any pressing matters, Jack retrieved his itinerary on the way to the party to review it. There had been some alterations to his plans to better accommodate Gabe’s last minute company. Jack was initially supposed to enter through the rear with him, but he’d sent a rather firm refusal.

He’d vetoed the plans on the grounds that any drastic alterations to his schedule would be too obvious, so he’d compromised with revisions to his arrival time and speech being staggered differently. They arrived twenty minutes into the full swing of the gala. Reporters were still lined up outside the building, their cameras and lights flashing all up and down the steps.

“Been awhile for you, hasn’t it?” Jack mused over his refilled drink. Gabe had been the Strike-Commander before him, but that was during the height of the Omnic Crisis. He had answered mostly to government officials, although people had hounded him for a story even then.

Jack still had the full, front page article starring Gabe after their first successful campaign. He’d hung it up in his various lockers until the report found a home in the top drawer of his desk at Headquarters. Gabe was front and center in tactical gear so blue as to “let the tin cans know we’re coming right for them,” as the other man put it when he helped design their armor. Not many people were aware of the origins of Overwatch’s colors, since Gabe himself was loath to accessorize in anything lighter than pure, pitch black. 

At his question Gabe shifted in his seat. He looked primed to go into combat, as opposed to facing a hoard of digital cameras and nosy interviewers. Jack could relate. Gabe motioned to his face, but was looking at Jack when he said, “Come on, it’s showtime.”

Remembering he still had on his visor, Jack removed it and tucked the device into a breast pocket. Folded up, it didn’t even leave a noticeable impression under the lining.

Gabe pressed a button on the left-hand console, alerting McCree that they were ready. The sounds of the Blackwatch agent exiting the front and coming around on the sidewalk predicated him opening the passenger door. Behind the rope fencing of the steps every face swiveled around to see the new arrivals, but only a couple perked up in recognition. Some shutters beeped as they took shots of the elusive Gabriel Reyes as he stepped foot outside, righting his uniform jacket and scanning the crowds.

He ignored the paparazzi, seeming to wait for some kind of cue before he stepped aside and motioned for Jack to step out. Now all the observers went into a frenzy, motioning for attention. Jack waved once to appease the masses, but focused on getting out of the open and into the building.

Inside, they checked their meager belongings and went through security. Or maybe more like around, since all Gabe had to do was flash some credentials and they were permitted past the line of scanners. During all this Jack didn’t notice anyone out of the ordinary. Not a surprise, since Gabe personally vetted all the security staff. He’d also requested and approved of Genji Shimada to fill in. Knowing his specialty, the agent was hiding up in the rafters somewhere, well out of everyone’s sight.

The two of them were led into an expansive lobby, where they were immediately offered flutes of champagne. Chandeliers sparkled above and marble floors reflected the gala attendees in its polished surface. Even being late, they would be expected to mingle and dance between the foyer, ballroom, and small gallery to work up an appetite. It was beginning to get crowded, loud, and stuffy due to the sheer volume of people.

Before Jack could even ask, “Shall we?” they were caught by a couple on the way to the ballroom. Jack recognized them both, as they were a part of the European division of Overwatch. The man, Jacob, was their top mechanical engineer for their aviation branch and his wife, Vera, worked in the administrative offices alongside Jack’s personal assistant.

Individually, they were very professional and dedicated to their respective areas, but the couple were known to regularly make a point to share their lunches together. Jack could admit to being envious of even that much, but his smile was no less genuine as he greeted them in kind.

“Good of you both to make it,” Jack said, motioning with his glass in welcome. “How was your flight over?”

Vera laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, surely you must have heard how simply _dreadful_ it was. Can you believe the weather these days? I can never recall having such torrential downpours before. The weather is most strange.”

“I design the blasted things, but even I was a little worried about the plane on the way over,” Jacob admitted. “We certainly hope you fared much better on your journey, Strike-Commander. You as well, Commander Reyes. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

Jacob turned to politely engage Gabe, as did his wife. Jack couldn’t blame their curiosity, as the other man’s contributions were off the record half the time. His presence couldn’t altogether be dismissed, and frankly Jack attested that it was necessary. So many of Gabe’s heroic acts were downplayed or his team’s efforts were reworked after the fact, explaining away the occasional sighting, but also erasing their good.

“It took some persuasion on my part, but it _is_ the anniversary of Overwatch. It only makes sense that a founding member be here,” Jack said smoothly. It wasn’t the exact lie he’d been instructed to fabricate, and the sidelong glance Gabe gave him indicated he caught on to what Jack was doing, but he kept a straight face.

“Oh yes, how exciting!” Vera cupped her cheek in endearment. “Forgive my forwardness, sir, but I was worried when I heard only you might be in attendance. The rest of your team should really be here to be recognized.”

“Now dear…” her husband started, looking uncomfortable at the direction she was heading.

“Of course, they have their own familial obligations during this time. I meant no disrespect,” Vera was quick to add, huffing. “I just mean it’s good that two individuals such as yourselves are able to share this moment in history. It’s been a rather successful few years, yes? Why, just last week the collaboration with Peru…”

Jack took a larger sip of his drink than was proper as he tried to repress his recent memories to the contrary. While some areas of Overwatch were flourishing – _still_ aiding recovery efforts from the war, expanding across the globe, volunteering in think-tank projects that had revolutionized medical, scientific, and technological fields by decades, just to name a few – the recent… _unrest_ surrounding the organization couldn’t be ignored.

He had awoken to more than one protest outside of Overwatch’s gates. The same swarm of reporters he’d waded through had been at Jack’s throat just hours prior. A few heads of state were reluctant to even acknowledge him during the day’s proceedings earlier. Jack had been trying not to concern himself with all that tonight, given the more pressing concern of an assassin in their midst, and had to force it back down.

The music suddenly swelled, grabbing more than one person’s attention. Vera brightened at the implication and said, “Oh, this is good! I do hope you’ll honor your promise to dance with me, Strike-Commander, as you’ll remember my dear Jacob has two left feet.”

“It’s true,” Jacob said amicably, toasting his glass in agreement.

Jack began to nod, remembering the conversation he’d had where Vera confessed to missing the pastime. He’d offered before his leave, with the understanding that she would only have three dance routines to choose from due to his own limited expertise. But Gabe straightened, interjecting with a loud, “ _No._ ”

He shifted his stance at all their startled stares. Clearing his throat, Gabe said, “It’s just…I would be honored to request the first dance, if you don’t mind.”

“Why Reyes, I didn’t know you danced,” Jack demurred.

The other man’s demeanor turned irritable and he insistently took Jack by the arm, intending to manhandle him to the ballroom if that’s what it took. Or more likely to prevent anyone from interfering, since Jack had just been teasing and had no true intention of refusing.

“Then if you’d care to _show me_ ,” Gabe said through gritted teeth, it not so much a request as a demand.

“I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse us,” Jack had to resist grinning as he bid their two companions farewell. A few mutterings of ‘of course’ resounded after them as Gabe led Jack to the dance floor. Just prior to joining the other party goers, Jack relieved his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

Despite how busy this area was, the slow tempo of the song made it effortless for newcomers to ease in with the other dancers. Gabe dragged him to the outskirts of all the activity, but after some shuffling Jack soon took the lead.

A hand eased into place at Gabe’s hip, while the other gripped him by the hand. Their bodies pressed close enough together the medals of Gabe’s uniform were felt against Jack’s chest. Soon they kept pace with the music, blending in seamlessly. Jack didn’t have to do much as he was matched step-for-step.

He might have enjoyed the moment better if Gabriel were actually paying attention. His head was on a swivel, looking anywhere but at what was in front of him. Gabriel’s footwork was robotic, relying on Jack to string him along. He felt the taut line of Gabriel’s movements under his touch.

Conversationally, he said, “That’s funny.”

“Hm?” Gabriel concentrated back on his face. Both men were of similar height, so their gazes locked as he searched Jack’s eyes. No doubt he assumed it had to do with a potential threat, thinking he’d somehow missed something.

“Your dancing is impeccable. I could have sworn you said you didn’t know how.”

And he lost Gabriel again. He inclined his head away, although in this instance it was in a fit of pique. 

“Did I?”

The band swelled as the song ended, their music blending into the next one. It was a couple beats faster, more frenzied, and everyone picked up the pace accordingly. Jack tightened his grip in both preparation and in warning as he transitioned them into the dance.

“I could be mistaken,” Jack said, hardly out of breath. He maintained their conversation throughout the activity, having nothing on the hours of boot camp they’d been forced to endure. “But if I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t need my help at all.” Leaning in, he said close to Gabriel’s ear. “ _Real_ subtle. Not losing your touch, are you?”

“Ugh. You know it’s that I don’t _like_ to dance,” Gabriel emphasized the difference, his voice dry. Not having to do such things had been a perk of the crisis, Jack supposed. These parties were unthinkable in the areas they’d been stationed and Gabriel was too busy answering generals in the middle of hot zones to be concerned with making nice. The God Programs hadn’t much cared about frivolities or social constructs when it was destroying the human race.

“Yet here you are, sweeping me off my feet,” Jack said.

He dipped his head, attention diverted. “Maybe I just hadn’t found the right partner until now. Ever think of _that?_ ”

Well. Jack was rendered speechless by that one.

The music mellowed out, allowing people to disperse if they so choose. Soon Jack would have to conduct his opening statement, but until then Gabe nodded his chin toward a less occupied part of the room. Jack took in the empty wall space, between an emergency exit and a secondary drink station. There was a bank of windows, but they didn’t take up the whole space and were at too harsh an angle to give a clear view. He nodded his agreement and let himself be led off the ballroom floor.

On the way, Jack ordered each of them a drink while Gabe surveyed the room. The other man was trying to be discreet, but his gaze was nothing but sharp as he scanned every dark corner and tiny crevice.

“I’m going to have to mingle with _some_ officials, you realize. Preferably an investor or two,” Jack said, offering Gabe his drink. In his case it was for show, but Jack took an actual sip of his. “I have an obligation to this organization, no matter the circumstances.”

“You could serve it better by helping me search for the target’s killer,” Gabriel said offhandedly.

That, more than anything tonight, hurt.

A furrow formed between Jack’s brows as he stopped mid-swallow. He resumed the task with fervor, tipping his head back to take in more alcohol. Jack debated his response as he drank. By the time he was finished he decided _fuck it_ , Gabriel had had his chance in his suite, while they were alone in the elevator, during the limo ride, and as they were dancing.

“That shouldn’t be difficult,” he said coolly, “considering whoever it is will be coming to me.”

Gabriel didn’t show any outward signs, or at least not identifiable to anyone else, but Jack had known him long enough to recognize a tell or two. The slight crease around his mouth, almost imperceptible because of the goatee, was sign enough he was gearing up for a rebuttal.

“And what makes you say that?” Gabriel finally asked, in the same tone of voice as ‘who do I have to maim for the intelligence breech?’

“I’m aware that I am the target,” Jack said. He stared down into the waning glass of alcohol in his hand as Gabriel opened his mouth, but Jack cut him off. He elaborated without the other man’s prompting since he was unsure if he trusted whatever might come from him.

“You refrained from naming the hit, you insisted on chest plating and a weapon; you integrated a highly trained secret agent as a _personal chauffeur—"_

“Not _that_ trained yet,” Gabriel mumbled, although his jaw clicked with how fast he shut it at the steely glare Jack sent in his direction.

“And now you’ve refused to leave my side, like some personal bodyguard. _That’s_ how I know…” He trailed off, returning his gaze to the amber reflection in his glass. Jack took a deep breath, dredging up the conviction to finish with, “Please don’t insult my intelligence by arguing to the contrary.”

He tossed back the rest of his drink. Then Jack carefully, gently, deliberately set the glass down on the nearby windowsill. Jack wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Gabriel let him leave without a single protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Overwatch timeline is a finicky mistress, so I probably got some aspects wrong, but I hope everyone enjoyed the minor hints at the future that I sprinkled throughout: like Jesse's undercover work, the 'strange weather' similar to Storm Rising, and Jack's subtle beginnings to alcoholism. There will be even more in the final chapter of the story, so please keep your eyes peeled next time!


	4. Chapter 4

Outside an open window, Genji crouched on a thin, cement sill by the tips of his toes. His sword was perched across his knees, more for ease of access than as a comfort. Genji kept perfectly still as he kept watch of both the surrounding area and the festivities going on inside.

He observed each speech as it was given, every meal that was brought in, all the staff and attendees as they dispersed once more to wind down the night. The strike-commander, Jack as he insisted on being called, was amongst them. His demeanor didn’t reflect the serious threat looming or the tumultuous start of the event. The other man was all poise and decorum around the other guests, open to entertaining everyone that approached him.

Genji had been host to countless parties like this at his family’s estate. He understood the expectations surrounding such things, although most of the responsibility had gone to his father or the eldest son. At the time, Genji had been more than fine with that. He’d hated how stuffy and steeped in tradition every action and word had been, and how judgmental everyone was. Watching Jack attempt to traverse much the same did not have Genji envy him.

If he could admit to feeling anything but anger these days, it might be pity. Jack was, somehow, a _good man_ despite it all. Too good, perhaps.

He remembered back to an instance when he was still bedridden in Dr. Angela Ziegler’s ward. She’d been tense. Genji had been able to tell despite how much she’d fought to have a controlled bedside manner.

“ _You have a visitor. But! Only if you’re up to it, of course._ ” Genji had clicked once for ‘yes’ on the controller nestled in the palm of his flesh hand before she could go further. He’d understood that the opportunity for solitude was long past; Genji had even been in anticipation of this. Angela had looked despondent, but she’d nodded in acknowledgement.

She’d gone to the door and spoken quietly to someone out of Genji’s sights, then let in a giant of a man. He had worn a blue duster jacket and matching chest armor, with his blond hair sheared short. Genji would have recognized Strike-Commander Morrison of Overwatch even if he hadn't once paid a visit to the Shimada compound. He’d seen snippets of Jack since the… _incident_ , the man’s face hovering above Genji’s or from behind observation windows above his operating table.

Angela had drilled the commander during his approach, which may have been amusing if it were anything, anywhere else. She’d informed her superior not to push Genji too hard, that only direct ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions were permitted since his feeding tube had just been removed. Most firmly, Angela had said she would be standing by and if she saw _one_ wrong blip on her patient’s monitor then she would personally see to the end of this exchange.

The man had simply nodded his head – no arguments, no pushing her around and no reminding the doctor of her place. It was very different from what Genji had been accustomed to, to what he assumed it would be like here. To this day he was still thrown off by how _casual_ some interactions or conversations could be in Overwatch.

Jack had removed his jacket and set it on the back of the plastic waiting chair. The hem of it pooled on the ground. The commander ignored how it dragged on the floor when he had pulled the piece of furniture closer to sit down.

“ _Hello. My name is Jack_ ,” he’d introduced himself. He had sat with his hands on his knees, back straight – clearly keeping up with the American-military-persona that’d cultivated him. “ _Do you know who I am?_ ”

‘Yes,’ Genji had clicked.

“ _Do you know where you are?_ ”

‘Yes,’ he’d clicked again.

The other man nodded, then just as succinctly he had asked, “ _Do you remember who you are, after the accident?_ ”

Genji had paused, his thumb hovering over the button.

“ _It’s all right if you’re confused, don’t strain yourself,_ ” Jack had resumed gently. “ _If you’re having trouble, I just want you to know that you will have the entirety of the organization behind your care – regardless of your memory._ ”

At his wording Genji had narrowed his eyes, since he couldn’t tilt his head like he instinctively wanted to. It was a habit he’d never been broken of, and its resemblance to a curious bird was part of what got him the title of ‘Sparrow’ in some circles.

“ _As I said, we are dedicated to your recovery. Isn’t that right, Dr. Ziegler?_ ”

Genji had transferred his stare to Angela at the proposal, but she had looked all too surprised and delighted at the ‘offer’ for it to be anything but genuine. She had chimed in with several nods, although she had been looking gratefully at Jack when she did.

 _It’s an out_ , he’d realized. This man, and in turn his physician, were offering him an escape. He’d always wanted to leave his clan – no more looking over his shoulder, no more burdens, no more overbearing family. He could have feigned amnesia and pretended his life away, gotten healed and started over anew.

Such a choice might have been Genji’s if his own brother hadn’t tried to murder him.

He had dropped the clicker and slowly crooked a finger for the commander to come closer. Jack had shot Angela a sideways glance. She’d hesitated, but after analyzing Genji for a moment she had given a permissive nod.

“ _Just be gentle, please…_ ” she had reminded, the statement seemingly directed at the both of them.

Genji had reached up to push his oxygen mask to the side and then grabbed Jack’s chest plate to drag him closer. The commander had reached forward as well, Genji’s grip having tightened, but he wasn’t shoved away. Jack had simply reached to support him by the neck and had tilted his ear to make it easier on Genji.

“ _I know…you want to stop the_ … _the Shimadas._ ” Genji had to pause to take a wheezing breath between words. Jack’s shoulders had bunched up. “ _I will…tell you everything. In exchange…_ ” He’d coughed, but to Jack’s credit he hadn’t even flinched at the gesture. In a whisper, he’d settled on, “ _I must…be there…to finish them._ ”

Since that bedside meeting, Genji had wanted for nothing as far as his enhancements were concerned. He’d been assigned to a handful of small operations, similar to this, to test his abilities. He had seen Jack through many of these kinds of functions. 

So yes, it was quite unfortunate that the strike-commander must be subjected to them. But all he could dredge up was to keep quiet, to prove to himself and to others that he was capable of finishing off greater threats. With practice, when it came time to end the legacy of his bloodline, Genji intended to be ready.

Movement next to the window made Commander Reyes’ presence known. He was also watching the proceedings. Without averting his gaze from the open floor, Reyes lifted his glass to his lips to mask him asking, “Status?”

“Nothing unusual to report,” Genji answered.

After a prolonged silence in which neither of them broke from their respective positions, Reyes said into his cup, "You got something else to add? No? Then do your job, agent."

Genji huffed, it coming off as a hiss behind the layer of his metal faceplate. He knew it wasn't his place to push, and he _wouldn't have_ if not for Reyes' comment. Genji never could let things go; when it came to authority his wit was in control of his mouth more often than not. Sharply, Genji asked, "I am assigned to protect the Strike-Commander tonight, yes?"

"Last I checked that's what's on the docket."

"Then should I cut you down now or later?" he asked in reference to the two commanders' exchange from before.

Genji hadn't intended to witness the argument – the curse of being stealthy was overhearing certain exchanges that were not meant for him. Although it was a rare occurrence, Genji had seen Jack upset enough to recognize the strict way he'd set down his glass. When a man that could destroy training bots with a couple of barehanded punches put that much effort into being careful, it was a sure sign he was holding back.

"Don't be a wiseass. That's the ingrate's job," Reyes said, his voice dry.

Inside, the lights dimmed. On a makeshift stage a woman stepped out from behind some curtains that were hung from the ceiling. She took her place at the microphone, her voice joining the classical band that had been playing off to the side all night. The singer swayed in place and her hands twirled to the beat to lull the partygoers further. Most people stopped dancing to opt into enjoying the woman's haunting performance, although a few continued mingling amongst themselves.

Neither man paid attention to the singer, however, as McCree's voice filled their communicators. " _Got some strange activity goin' on over here. I'm about to investigate. Hold tight._ "

"Keep me apprised of the situation," Reyes ordered into their shared channel. He lowered one hand to his side, deceptively lax.

Genji tensed in anticipation. He gripped the handle of his sword tighter while lifting his other hand to activate the shuriken stashed in the prosthetic limb. He knew McCree would have left the line of parked limousines and gone to keep watch of the rear exits. If need be, Genji could spring above the gardens and make it to the other agent's position in seconds.

" _Tch, cancel that. Jus' the entertainment showin' up late._ "

The clarification, by no means, was a comfort. Genji was already turning in place, pressing flush against the wall so as to sneak indoors as he asked, "If they are with you…then who is in here, with the strike-commander?"

Reyes didn't say a word as he set down his glass and headed right for the group of individuals that Jack was situated in the middle of.

" _I'm en route. Don't start the fun without me_ ," McCree said. Although his words were flippant, there was a flinty edge to his voice that promised retribution – for their enemies, no doubt.

"The commander is trying to intercept," Genji informed for the other agent's benefit. He watched Reyes wade into the crowd, gruff but polite at first, then shoving whole swathes of people when they didn't abide by his request.

Jack did a double-take at the commotion. His face was distinguishable above most everyone else's heads and he was able to see Reyes steamrolling towards him. He tried to excuse himself…with little success.

On the stage, the singer's arms made a subtle pass behind her. She fiddled with something in her dress before she raised both limbs. Something shiny reflected above her head before she leveled her hands in front of her.

"The enemy is armed!" Genji warned. "I repeat, the assassin has a gun!"

Reyes might have doubled his efforts, but Genji could already tell he wouldn't make it. Jack was at a standstill. McCree wasn't in sight yet.

"I'm killing the lights," Genji said. He directed his projectile weapons at the chandeliers, the shuriken sliding clean through the electrical cords. It didn't blanket everything in complete darkness, but it was enough for Genji to move discretely and to hopefully hinder the enemy's view.

Gasps filled the room as the overhead lights went out, but it was the sound of a gunshot that had attendees screaming and scrambling too late for cover. One in particular was from the waitress that Jack pushed out of harm's way. He'd snatched her metal platter in the process and held it in front of himself like a shield. The assassin's aim _was_ off – the first bullet missed its mark and struck Jack in the flesh of his arm. The second and third penetrated the flimsy metal of the tray, striking him dead center in the chest.

"SC is down, he's down! Someone get that shooter!" Reyes yelled. To those around him it sounded like a concerned partygoer, but Genji understood the order for what it was.

He jumped across the defunct chandeliers. When he was at the apex of his swing Genji flipped off the last light and, while mid-air, flung three shuriken. Each hit their mark. One throwing star struck the assassin by the hand, forcing her to drop the gun. Another embedded itself in her shoulder so she couldn't retaliate and the last hit her leg, making it so she couldn't flee.

Genji landed right on top of her, his body curled around hers, and sent them both into a controlled roll. They careened past the curtain and to the back of the stage. He brought them to a halt once they were away from prying eyes, crouched on top of her with his sword at her throat. The weight of his cybernetic body easily kept her in place.

The woman seemed dazed – not putting up any sort of fight. Her eyes were unseeing and her wounds didn't seem to faze her. Genji remained unmoving just in case.

A shadow out of the corner of his vision had Genji freeing up a hand to toss more shuriken. McCree ducked back around the doorway he'd come and narrowly avoided injury. Only a few of his brown hairs fluttered to the ground.

"Whoa there, partner! I'm one of the good guys," McCree reprimanded.

"…I have apprehended the assassin," he said by way of apology.

McCree transitioned into business with no hard feelings. "I can see that." Revolver still in hand and trained on her head, McCree walked around to the curtain-side to peek through the gap at the event transpiring outside. "Boss! Sitrep?"

The commander didn’t appear to hear McCree, his attention uncharacteristically hyper-focused elsewhere. Reyes kneeled on the ground, having finally reached Jack to pull his fallen form into his lap and cradle him in his arms. His voice carried across the open line, drowning out everyone else. “ _Come on, Jackie, come on! Breathe, dammit._ ”

A sudden cough echoed across communications as Jack tried to suck in air. He moved to sit up on his own, but Reyes wasn’t having it. “ _Sit still, you moron! You might be bleeding out_.”

Reyes then shouted for help, demanding any and all spectators to “actually fucking do something” when Jack shuffled around under his dress jacket. He pulled out his visor, which looked worse for wear, but there was no blood where the bullets had embedded in the device. The commander did a double take, staring down at it, before suddenly releasing his hold on Jack.

“ _Ow! Gabe, I’m still bruised. Don’t hit me—”_

McCree breathed a sigh of relief, although his back and shoulders remained taut. He turned back around. Genji hadn’t moved a muscle or gear in the span of them waiting for the strike-commander’s condition, intent on keeping the woman in check.

Her neutral expression was becoming disconcerting. Genji kept his blade in place as McCree waved a hand in front of her face and got no reaction. They shared a glance, to which Genji shrugged.

“Uh, did you…?” McCree made a swirling motion toward his own head. Slighted by whatever the other agent might have been implying about his methods, Genji’s faceplate retracted to reveal his glowing, narrowed eyes. Clearing his throat, McCree spoke into their communicators instead. “Hey Boss? We…captured the assassin. I guess. What now?”

“ _Get her into lockup. I’ll deal with the assailant, PERSONALLY. After I get this reckless dumbass to medical_ ,” Reyes instructed tersely.

“ _This ‘reckless dumbass’ can get himself to medical_ ,” came Jack’s muffled response across the line.

“You heard the man. Let’s skedaddle while everyone is distracted,” McCree said. He was right, everyone else _was_ distracted. The gala guests had all either fled in terror or were looking for their personal belongings in a stunned state. McCree leaned down to take the woman by an arm. Genji eased up and took her by the other arm. He used his prosthetic limb to do so, but the extra precaution was unnecessary.

The assassin didn’t put up any kind of fight while McCree cuffed her. Nor did she protest on her trip to the nearest Blackwatch site. In fact, she sat quietly for hours in the interrogation room without saying a single word or giving any kind of reaction as she was attended to by the field nurse on staff.

Not until Reyes entered the room.

He slammed the door, obviously intending to go hard from the get go. She was startled by the sharp noise. The commander laid into her the moment he stepped foot inside, barking for answers, and in just those couple of seconds…she cracked.

The woman was sobbing now. 

_Grossly_ , in fact. Her eyes were red, puffy and moistened with another round of tears. Reyes had eventually taken a seat opposite of her, managing to tower over her hunched form. While he was no longer raising his voice, Reyes remained stern as he asked for the hundredth time, “Who do you work for?”

“I’m telling you, no one!” she sobbed. The woman was trembling so badly her words warbled, almost indecipherable at this point since she’d begged and wailed and pleaded that she was innocent, that she had no idea where she was, or how she had gotten here.

“How did you infiltrate the gala?” Reyes persisted.

“I-I told you, I don’t know—”

“What do you have against Overwatch?”

The handcuffs on her arm clinked against the table she was strapped to as she insisted, “ _Nothing_ , I swear!”

“Why do you want John Morrison dead?”

“Why won’t you believe me?” Her hair was in disarray and stuck to the spots where her sweat and tears had made tracks on her skin, unmoving as she shook her head. “I’m just a librarian from Florida! I don’t even have a license for a gun, much less know how to _use_ one. Can’t you check, or something?”

From their position behind the two-way mirror, McCree tipped back his chauffeur hat to rub his forehead in bewilderment. “Alright, is anyone else as goddamn lost as I am or is she that good an actress? ‘Cause this don’t seem like the same person to me.”

Genji was silent from his crouched position on the table, and so was the strike-commander himself. Jack stood in front of the glass to one side. His injured limb was in a sling, or had been, since the brace currently dangled around his neck so he could cross his arms over his chest. Medical personnel had outfitted him with it after removing the bullet embedded in his arm and Reyes had insisted he use it, but Jack clearly didn’t require the aid. He moved around and acted like nothing had ever happened.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Jack admitted, rubbing his face, “because I can’t be sure anymore, either.”

Neither could Reyes, if the commander’s exasperated way of getting up from his chair and storming from the room was any indication. He said as much when he entered their observation room. Slapping his tablet on the table Genji was perching on, he said, “If she’s faking it, then I’d be half-tempted to pay her hiring fee and recruit her.” At Jack’s bland look, Reyes added, “If she hadn’t taken so many potshots at you, of course.”

“So she _is_ telling the truth?” Jack asked.

“Can any of _you_ get a read on her?” Reyes asked in return. Raising his eyebrows, he cast a glance at the three of them.

Genji stared back into the room. The woman had set her head down into her arms, or as best she could considering how she was chained to the table. Her shoulders shook and her sniffling was still audible through the speakers. Delicately, Genji said, “She _believes_ what she claims, if nothing else.”

“Then there’s your answer,” Reyes said. He scoffed, waving a hand at him and McCree. “Get her into holding; maybe a night in lockup will ‘jog’ her memory and something can be done then. You’re both dismissed.”

McCree tipped his hat in acquiesce, but Genji tilted his helmet toward Jack for his permission. At the nod of the strike-commander’s chin, he hopped off the table and followed the other agent out. He went to close the door and caught a glimpse of the commander approaching the other man. The words Reyes exchanged with Jack were too soft for even his enhanced hearing to pick up, but the way he went to gently take Jack by the ‘injured’ limb was evidence of what they might be sharing.

Genji shut the door on the scene, not wanting to infringe any more on their privacy tonight.

The other agent had gone ahead and went to retrieve the woman by himself. Genji hung back, as insurance in case this really was an act, but also hesitant to crowd her if something else was at work. He knew what his appearance was like, and McCree was better at handling people than he was these days.

He waited in the hallway while he worked, which was why Gérard Lacroix was able to approach him. Lacroix wore a full suit, although Genji knew for a fact he hadn’t been in attendance at the gala since he’d been reporting from the Overwatch branch in Rome this morning. He must have just flown in, although he appeared unruffled by any flight.

“Ah, good evening,” Lacroix greeted. He adjusted his grip on the sterling metal briefcase he carried, the finger-print lock glinting in the low light of the space. Genji did not return the salutation, but he dipped his chin to show he was listening since Lacroix could only be here on business. “Can you direct me to Monsieur Reyes? I have some information he may wish to hear regarding our dear bibliothécaire.”

The fact the other man was already aware of their captive was not as alarming or surprising as it should have been, given Lacroix’s record with the organization. Genji turned his head toward the observation room, the gesture direction enough. Lacroix thanked him and headed toward the door, but before he could open it Genji hedged, “You may want to…knock first.” 

He paused with his hand above the knob, before chuckling softly. “Ah, so the reports of the strike-commander’s wellbeing are true. That is good.” Lacroix thanked Genji again and made a point to rap on the outside, waiting for permission to enter before ducking inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, timing is probably off all over the place, but I couldn't resist hints about the future of Amélie's neural reconditioning and Gérard coming forward with evidence about Talon as an organization. I'm sure there were several attempts before 'Widowmaker' could become a thing, although no one knew about the extent of them at the time. 
> 
> I also considered one more chapter, obviously starring Gérard observing Gabriel and Jack, but I just don't feel confident enough to touch on his character since we know so little about him. If we ever learn more about him in canon I might come back to this, but for now I'm content to leave everything off as-is. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for sticking with this story! I've really appreciated all the kudos, comments, and bookmarks. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [writing blog on Tumblr](http://snaurus.tumblr.com/) for more content or [come say hi to me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/snaurus)!


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